


Success, by Some Definition

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awakening!Anders, Commander Purrana, Dragon Age Kinkmeme, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: For the Dragon Age Kinkmeme:Awakening!Anders in Skyhold. How he gets there is up to A!A. Could be AU where Anders was never bonded with Justice, could be time travel. I just want him interacting with the Skyhold gang.Exactly what it says on the tin.Bonus party banter.





	1. Sucess, by Some Definition

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [spicyshimmy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyshimmy/pseuds/spicyshimmy) to whom I've never spoken, but whose many AUs inspired this one.
> 
> Chapter 2 is 100% party banter, no additional story.

“Well this is certainly… Something,” Anders said. His blond hair hung limply in the short tail at the back of his head. A gold earring that had seen better days twinkled in his ear. His wrists were each bound with a silverite magical suppression cuff. He clanked them mournfully against the bars. He spoke to the single, unimpressed guard. “Did you know there's a hole in your dungeon?”

The guard sighed. Probably. It was difficult to tell with his helmet on. 

Anders gestured grandly to the missing wall and sections of broken floor. His was in one of the two cells still fully intact. “Not that I don't appreciate the view, mind you. It's just a bit drafty. I got my fill of drafty from my Circle robes.”

“Maker preserve me,” the man in the next cell said. He wore tattered red clothes in a vaguely Tevinter style. His own wrists were also bound in suppression cuffs.

“No chance of that, my friend. We're in the South. The Maker seems to have forgotten we mages exist. Kind of like these guards. Why, I haven't been fed in hours. Hours, I tell you!”

The guard definitely sighed that time.

Anders clanged the cuffs some more. “You know, Gereon, I didn't even do it this time. I don't even know what it is I've supposedly done. I assume you were mixed up in that whole slavery in the Denerim alienage mess during the Blight. So maybe  _ you  _ deserved having a mountain dropped on you, but I didn't.”

“The Blight was ten years ago.” Gereon Alexius’ voice was tired - a good match for the dark circles under his eyes and his slumped, defeated posture. 

“You can't expect efficiency from a- Ten years ago? I knew Tevinter was different, but I didn't think you counted time wrong.”

“It's 9:41 Dragon.”

“I find your exasperated tone offensive and unconvincing. Guard? Guard! He's offending me. I demand I be transferred to another cell immediately. That one with the broken latch will do nicely.” Anders pointed to one of the broken cells and didn't lower his hand until the door opened. 

A Dalish elf with a sword nearly as long as she was tall entered with a group of heavily armed people who all seemed to look at her with deference. One of them even looked like Ser Cullen, if you took him out of his blighted templar armor and beat him over the head with a magical aging stick.

“Is there such a thing as a magical aging stick?” Anders asked aloud. When his only reply was blank stares, he continued talking. “So have you heard back from the commander yet? I'm most definitely a Warden and even more definitely not under the jurisdiction of the Chantry. If this is about Biff, you really need to get over yourselves, he wasn't that great. And more importantly, I didn't do it.”

“He certainly sounds like Anders,” Not-Cullen said. “But not the Anders I knew in Kirkwall.”

The Dalish woman stepped carefully across the dungeon floor. Anders whistled appreciatively, though whether it was at her body or the intricate dragon on her sword, he would never tell. She looked first at him and then at Alexius, who was then sitting morosely and with his back to Anders. 

“Gereon Alexius,” she said, her Dalish, efl-y, pretentious accent wrapping around each syllable. “You told us you experimented with your time magic on the apostate who blew up Kirkwall’s Chantry.”

“Not an apostate,” Anders interrupted. “Also never blew up a Chantry. I haven't even been to Kirkwall. Blighted Ser Rylock kept dragging me back to the Tower when I tried.”

No one paid him any attention. 

“Yes, Herald. No matter how much power Dorian and I used, we couldn't get it to work. We wanted to try manipulating Fade energy directly without having to rely on a demon.”

The Dalish woman, Herald - Anders assumed it was a title and not that she was named Harold, though you could never tell with the Dalish - stared at Anders for a few moments before looking back at the magister. 

(Anders really hoped Alexius wasn't actually a magister. He had always pictured them as equal parts powerful and elegant. Meanwhile, this Magister Alexius was defeated and tired. And not a feather in sight!)

“So he really is an abomination?”

“Was,” Alexius corrected. “The spirit was gone after the experiment. Possibly all of its energy was consumed in the process.”

“And the result was..?” Herald asked, leadingly.

Alexius gestured at Anders, rather rudely, if they asked Anders, which they didn't. “A younger version.”

“Then it worked. It  _ worked _ .” Not-Cullen said. “Why would you make a deal with Corypheus if it worked?!”

“I didn't think it had!” Alexius snarled in return. “He was in an unresponsive coma until you stormed Redcliffe. You saw that for yourself!”

The Dalish woman raised a hand. “Enough, Cullen.”

“Even if I had known, Felix refused to join with a spirit.”

“Refused to become an abomination? I can't imagine why, what with the snarling and grossly deformed body…” Anders trailed off meaningfully. “And I don't like how you keep insinuating I was an abomination. I survived a year in solitary. If that didn't break me, I can't imagine anything that could.”

The woman looked over her shoulder at Not-Cullen-or-maybe-actually-Cullen. “Was he always like this?”

“Worse. In Kirkwall, anyway.”

Herald turned to Anders and frowned. It was a cute frown, not like Velanna’s kill-all-the-shems frown. “I guess we should… let him go, then.”

“Inquisitor, he killed hundreds of people, including the Grand Cleric,” Cullen said, though he didn't sound quite as upset as those charges would warrant. 

“I haven't killed anyone,” Anders said. “Expect darkspawn. And bandits. But those don't count. Even the ones that could talk. The darkspawn that is. Everyone knows bandits can't talk. That would be ridiculous.”

Herald and Cullen exchanged glances. Terribly meaningful ones, passing whole sentences silently. The Commander sometimes did that with Howe and it was just as annoying then. They seemed to come to a decision. 

“No one has been able to contact your commander for months,” Herald began. 

“I bet it's Morrigan again.”

“And the Templars have gone rogue, killing mages on sight.”

“Sounds normal for Templars.”

She continued to ignore him. “So it would be best if you stayed here at Skyhold for now. You're a spirit healer, right? We could really use your help.”

“As long as there are no broodmothers, it sounds good enough for now.” He held out his wrists.

 

\---

 

After bathing, shaving and complaining mightily to the quartermaster about the blandness of his clothing and the distinct lack of feathers, Anders cornered Dorian Pavus in one of the half-refinished rooms in Skyhold. “You’re Dorian Pavus? From Tevinter?”

The second question was needless. He knew Dorian was from Tevinter. He’d been jailed next to the man’s patron ever since he woke up in one of Redcliffe castle’s more decrepit rooms.

Dorian’s magnificent mustache twisted in irritation - a really rather presumptuous emotion. Anders was wonderful, not irritating, but Dorian let the emotion overcome him and taint his words. “Yes. And while I am a mage, I am  _ not _ a magister.”

“Of course not,” Anders replied magnanimously. “You’re an altus. Magisters wear far more feathers.”

“Feathers?” Dorian laughed, incredulous, but no longer irritated. “My dear man, feathers haven’t been in vogue since my father was running around in short pants.”

“So not that long ago, since time passes differently in Tevinter.” Anders ignored the bafflement on the other mage’s face and moved to give Dorian a route back into the castle proper. “But nevermind that. Alexius told me so much about you.”

“About my elite magical prowess and peerless fashion sense, I’m sure.” Dorian twisted the end of his mustache and gestured that they should continue speaking as they walked.

Anders tapped his lips with a single finger. “No, he rather focused on your escapades and recalcitrance.”

Dorian made an offended noise and turned to tell Anders what for - he knew because he made that same expression before beginning his own diatribes - but he seemed to lose the thread of his thought when he got a good look at Anders. “You-!”

“Me,” Anders agreed, easily. “Warden, Spirit Healer, escapist extraordinaire.” He bowed with much flourishing of hands.

“You’re the abomination that blew up the Kirkwall chantry!” Dorian looked half as impressed with Anders as he was with himself. A monumental achievement, to be sure. “There’s talk of you all over the Imperium, in a quaint story kind of way. Did Alexius really use your demon to make the technique work?”

“If it worked, I wouldn’t remember it, would I?”

Dorian blinked. “Is that a no?”

“I think it’s a yes.” Anders scratched his chin. “A beardless dwarf threw a handful of horseshit at me and Cullen looks murderous if I so much as enter the room - not that that’s anything special for him, you know how templars are - but all sorts of people seem to treat me like some kind of walking plague, so maybe I did blow up a chantry. Well, and either it worked or I traveled ten years into the future coincidentally.”

Dorian put his arm through Anders’. “Welcome to life as a pariah, friend.”

“Welcome to? You are aware that Circles here in the barbaric south are mage prisons?” Anders held a hand against his chest at the indignity of it all. “I’ve been a pariah since my magic manifested. Though, I suppose that’s slightly more understandable than being a pariah just because you like a good buggering. I mean, who doesn’t?”

“Who indeed?” Dorian responded. They strolled into the main hall, but found it crowded with scaffolding and workmen. Dorian quickly lead them through another door that opened up to stairs leading down to the kitchens. “I take it Alexius told you that?”

“Hardly, I’ve known how to appreciate a good buggering since my time in the Circle. Particularly early in my time. Not much else to do in prison. There’s only so much studying you can do.” Anders waved it off. “But enough about that for now. I want to know what, exactly, I supposedly did in Kirkwall. I’m sure it was terribly dashing and heroic, what with how everyone I ask dissolves into swears and muttering.”

Dorian didn’t respond immediately. Not because he needed time to think, oh no, he was far too clever to need that, but because he was preparing a plate of food in the suspiciously empty kitchen. He even supervised Anders’ own preparation to ensure the other mage didn’t pick anything unseemly. “The story rather witters on for a while about the selfless, dirty apostate living in the sewers and healing the downtrodden for free while mercilessly hunted by vicious southern templars.”

“The  _ sewers _ ? For  _ free _ ? Really, whomever first told this story must be soft in the head. Can’t have ever met me.” Anders worried the gold ring in his ear, before remembering he had pork grease on his hand and fruitlessly wiping it off on his trousers. 

“It’s all written quite clearly in the Tale of the Champion,” Dorian replied as he nibbled on a slice of buttered bread.

“I was given a copy of that. If you call having one thrown at my head giving.” There might have been a rather large goose egg on his forehead from that, if he hadn’t been a spirit healer.

“Why not just read that, then?”

“There’s a great big hole in it. I thought the message was rather as pointed as whatever made the hole.”

“What a terrible thing to do to a book.” 

Conversation petered out as they sifted through their own thoughts - though Dorian’s mind was rather preoccupied on whether or not they’d find the wine cellar and whether or not it would be locked. Plates still in hand, the two mages meandered through Skyhold’s lower levels and into a musty, dusty, cobweb-strewn library. 

Dorian abandoned his plate and the scraps on it. He wiped his hands off on a moth-eaten cloth covering a couch of some kind and then examined the old spines.

Anders ate everything on his plate and carelessly dropped it on top of Dorian’s before wiping both hands off on his trousers - they weren’t actually his, afterall. “So that important Dalish woman. Is Herald actually her name or some kind of title? Everyone else seems to know. I didn’t want to embarrass myself.”

“That would be Ellana of Clan Lavellan, now the Inquisitor.” Dorian said, mind focused on the old, cramped writing. “They started calling her the Herald of Andraste when she sealed the Breach.”

“Aren’t the chantries already the heralds of Andraste? What with all of the spreading of the Chant and mage oppression.”

“It’s the South. You can’t expect brilliant ideas.”

“I suppose not.” Anders paused. “Do you think there are any cats in Skyhold?”

 

\-------------

 

“So Blondie…”

Anders paused mid-step. He was on his way back down to the cobwebby hidden library when the beardless dwarf spoke to him. Naturally, there was only one way to reply to that. “Yes, Blondie?”

The dwarf blinked a few times, as if he’d never realized he was blond. Not that Anders would be surprised if he’d never looked in a mirror because obviously no dwarf would intentionally remove his beard. It had to be a collection of shaving accidents. The dwarf recovered more quickly than Anders thought all of that and he had to concentrate to catch all of what  _ was _ said. “Firefly asked me to be nicer to you because you’re not the Blondie I know.”

“Clearly not, since I’m not a beardless dwarf.”

The dwarf’s face morphed into a familiar expression. Well, Anders assumed that was what his face looked like when a templar told a joke and he was decidedly not amused because templars were prats and therefore not deserving of having their jokes laughed at. “Right. Anyway, I thought I would see for myself. Sit down. Let’s have a little chat.”

Anders looked at the chair and hesitated. “I don’t know. Are you going to throw anything else at me? I just got these robes. And let me tell you, the quartermaster has  _ no _ sense of humor and I’ll be lucky to get another set.”

“That depends. How do you feel about templars?”

Anders picked at a splinter on the back of the chair. “Happy that they’ve got better things to do than chase me down. Sad that they’re being turned into red lyrium monstrosities.” He shuddered.

“Sad.  _ You _ are sad that something bad is happening to templars?” The dwarf looked so incredulous Anders was a little offended.

“You know, I really think people should just assume the abominable things I may or may not have said or done were caused by my being an  _ abomination _ . It’s kind of in the name, there, isn’t it? Yes, templars abused and tortured mages, but they’re still people, even if horrible people, and no one deserves to be turned into  _ that _ .” Anders huffed and threw the splinter to the floor.

The dwarf rubbed his face with one hand and Anders was rather impressed that he didn’t transfer any of the ink from his stained fingers onto his already abnormal face. “Sorry. Sit down. Sometimes, you think you know a guy…” He trailed off with a sigh. “I’m Varric Tethras.”

“I knew that.” He hadn’t. Anders sat down in the chair opposite Varric, though flounced was both more fun to say and more accurate. “I think we should just start calling that chantry-exploding abomination  _ Steve _ and leave me as Anders and save everyone a lot of confusion. Technically, I  _ was _ Anders first.”

“Steve doesn’t have the same panache as Anders. No one wants to read about the evil abomination Steve.”

“What about Sebastian? No one decent was ever named that.” Varric choked on a laugh, so Anders continued. “Nathaniel knew a guy named Sebastian. Completely useless at everything but sucking cock, he said. So, Sebastian, the cock sucking abomination.”

Varric leaned over the table, bracing himself with both hands as he laughed. After a few moments of Anders awkwardly staring and wondering when he became  _ that _ funny, Varric straightened and wiped a tear from his eye. “So what you’re telling me is that you knew the grisly details of Sebastian’s youth before coming to Kirkwall and you never told  _ me _ ?”

Anders pointed at the dwarf and spoke to hide the fact that he had no idea what Varric was talking about. “ _ I _ never went to Kirkwall. And if I had, I probably would have spent a long time trying to coax an encounter out of this Sebastian.” He paused. “Or maybe not. Abominations tend to be all growls and bared fangs and that’s not really conducive to getting off, good technique or no.”

Varric chuckled and made notes on a scrap of paper. “I’m starting to understand why Hawke believed you’d be desperate enough to use literal piss in a potion to get rid of Justice.”

“My sparkling personality is rather overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly something, Blondie.” Varric finished his note-writing and looked back to Anders. “So what do you think of the operation here?”

Anders shrugged. “It’s certainly something. I don’t know how I feel about a Dalish woman being in charge, though. They’re insane. Every one of them. I heard she’s out fighting a dragon in the Hinterlands.”

“Firefly’s good people. She saved a lot of people in Haven. And she’s not letting anything stop her.”

“Well, I hope not. Hearing some people talk, that would be the end of the world.” Anders smoothed down the front of his robes, as if brushing away such a notion.

“It might be,” Varric said, his tone suddenly dark and serious. He sounded half like Nathaniel, actually. “We already killed Corypheus once and it didn’t stick. You were there. Well, the abomination was there. He was able to control your mind through the taint.”

“I didn’t sign up for mind-control when I underwent the Joining,” Anders said, suddenly dubious.

Varric glanced around the hall, looking for eavesdroppers. Anders thought it was rather ridiculous. If someone was eavesdropping, obviously they’d be out of sight, but he kept the thought to himself. This time. “Hawke’s friend said that all of the Wardens were hearing the Calling. Are you having trouble with that?”

Anders blinked. “Is that what that is? I’ve been hearing  _ something _ since I woke up in Redcliffe, but I’ve only been a Warden for a few months, so I never even considered it might be the Calling.” He shrugged. “It’s not nearly as spooky as I thought it would be. Though - wait a minute, how do they know?”

“How do they know what?”

“How do they know what we’re hearing is the Calling?”

Varric just stared at him dumbly. Rather, he stared like Oghren would when asked a philosophical question. Or any question that wasn’t about bodily functions or booze. Anders took pity on him and continued, “When a Warden hears the Calling they go down in the Deep Roads and meet death in some suitably heroic fashion, so how does anyone know what it actually sounds like?”

“I’m sure they’ve explained it to other Wardens before their heroic deaths.” Varric’s patient tone reminded him of Wynne. And not in a good way. Not that there  _ were _ any good ways to think about his time at the Circle. Except for when he thought about Karl. Actually, wasn’t Karl in Kirkwall? What happened to him?

“I suppose, but this sounds similar to how the Commander explained the call of the Archdemon. Who’s to say we’re not actually in another Blight? He  _ did _ leave the Architect alive.”

“The who?”

“Um, nothing.”

“Yeah, no, Blondie. I know all of your tells. Who’s this ‘Architect’?”

Anders stood abruptly. “Oh, sorry, I hear someone  _ calling _ me. Get it? Anyway! I must be off.”

 

\-----------

 

Anders had a sense that let him more easily find cats. That sense was hearing. His ears were finely tuned to the clicking and growls that accompanied a cat’s playtime. After a good thirty minutes of climbing over broken stairs (something he realized was completely unnecessary after the fact - not that he’d tell anyone) Anders knelt over a litter of barn kittens. They rolled and pounced on a pile of fresh mint leaves.

The momma cat lounged off to the side, a mouse’s tail propped up by the grass next to her mouth. She was dedicatedly grooming one ear with one eye on the kittens. Anders crouched a yard away and summoned a little spell wisp to bob and weave between the kittens.

To his delight, a gray tabby stumbled after the wisp, which wound through the air toward Anders. When it was finally close enough, Anders grabbed it by the scruff of the neck. The wisp fizzled out. “Who’s the cutest little-” he checked, “-boy. That’s you! Yes it is.”

He rubbed the kitten against his face. “Do you want to come with me on my adventures in the healing tent? Yes, you do.” He picked up a piece of mint and held it up to the kitten’s face. With a tiny growl, the kitten batted at the mint and then chewed one of his paws. “What do you think about the name Commander Purrana?”

The kitten mewled and licked Anders’ hand. 

With a smug expression, Anders tucked the kitten into the deep inner pocket of his robes before standing. He pointed himself at what he thought was the castle’s main entrance and started walking. After several flights of stairs and climbing over two piles of rubble, Anders found himself decidedly not in the kitchens. In fact, on top of the battlements was one of the furthest places in Skyhold from the kitchens.

He looked down at where Commander Purrana’s head was poking out of his robes. “You know, once upon a time, I had a much better sense of direction. But then again, I was also using the Tower as a landmark.”

“Anders?”

He spun around to face a black-haired man with a smear of paint across his nose that he doubtless thought looked terribly rakish. (It did, but Anders wouldn’t admit that to someone glaring so fiercely.) “If you’re mistaking me for an abomination that looked like what you would get if you crossed me with a sewer nug, we’re calling him Steve and I’m not him.”

The glare looked more like bafflement now, which was improvement. “What?”

Anders pushed the fluffy kitten head back inside of his robes and then straightened them, though that just made the kitten bulge more obvious. “I was called Anders first, you see. And it’s not fair to me - what is - if everyone keeps calling that chantry destroying abomination  _ my _ name.”

Now the man was clenching his jaw and staring with narrowed blue eyes. Anders eyed the weapon on the man’s back - a wicked polearm that could convincingly pass as a halberd - and put his glorious intellect to work. After a moment, he nodded to himself triumphantly. “You must be Hawke.”

“I  _ must _ be about to stab you through the heart. I told you to never show your face again.”

“See, now I know you’re just not listening. You told  _ Steve _ to never show his face again. You’ve never met me. I’m Anders. Warden of Amaranthine! Slayer of the Mother! Companion of the Hero of Ferelden!”

Hawke - or an impersonator who read the Tale of the Champion - drew his staff and summoned magical fire to dance along the blade. He raised it menancingly at Anders. Anders didn’t back away in fear (though this was only because his back was to the edge of the battlement and there was nowhere to back away  _ to _ ).

Thankfully, Varric, glorious chesthair and all, saved the day. “Whoa, Killer, calm down. Blondie is harmless. Watch.” Varric leaned in to Anders and said, “I just saw a templar go in to see Firefly.”

“Oh really? You mean there are some that didn’t get corrupted? That’s… well, that’s something. I assume Lavellan won’t let them smite me, so I guess it’s good.”

Hawke lowered his staff, the fire put out, but his expression was still dubious.

“And really, Blondie,” Anders said to Varric, in case anyone was confused, “why is saying something to me about templars some sort of magical test of whether or not I’m an abomination?”

“Well,  _ Blondie _ ,” Varric emphasised the nickname as if that would make Anders stop using it for him. Clearly, Varric didn’t know Anders very well. “Whenever someone so much as mentioned templars to you before, you’d break out in a serious case of possessed, angry glowing.”

“That won’t happen to me. I don’t get that excited about anything, except maybe cats, but that’s in the other direction. You know, I’d really like to know what happened to Steve, in a morbid sort of way, because  _ I _ certainly didn’t like Justice enough to let him in my body. He kept demanding I do a lot of work and free all the mages. Can you imagine me that selfless? I can’t.”

Hawke didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Anders kept talking. “Also, I met your cousin.”

The bearded man (which wasn’t the dwarf - Anders still needed to ask about that shaving accident) blinked and then frowned at Anders. Though it was more of a confused frown than a ‘I’m going to murder you painfully’ frown. “Who? What cousin?”

“Daylen Amell. He was in the Circle with me. Had a gaggle of siblings. All mages, all separated to live apart in different Circles because Maker forbid we have any comfort of family around.” Anders stroked the bulge in his robes in what would have been a very suspect way if it hadn’t actually been a kitten.

“I never met any of Mother’s family outside of Uncle Gamlen. And I wish I hadn’t met him.”

“You didn’t miss much. He was boring. Never up for a tumble. They should have sent  _ him _ to the Gallows, not Karl.”

Hawke and Varric both flinched when Anders said the name, but he didn’t ask for details. He’d heard rumors about the Gallows, far better to not know what exactly happened to Karl. Hawke cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I hope my cousin made it out of the Circle when it rebelled.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid. Kinloch had a serious maleficar outbreak right after my last escape. But hey, at least the Circle wasn’t annulled.” Anders smiled winningly. It didn’t make the conversation any cheerier.

 

\-----------

 

“If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

“You’re probably not missing much. It’s Andraste’s bosom you really want to be greeted by,” Anders said. After glancing around, he stepped off his floating rock and towards the largest piece of ‘ground’ floating in the Fade. To his delight, this resulted in a smooth transition from being horizontal to standing upright, though poor Lavellan didn’t fare as well.

“And here I thought one trip to the Fade was already one too many for a dwarf,” Varric groused.

“So that bit with the  _ somniari _ kid really happened?”

“You know, Blondie, you ask that about everything. How about you just assume everything in the book happened?”

Anders shook his head. “But then I just end up imagining you sitting the corner writing notes while Hawke and that Fenris fellow-”

“That’s  _ enough _ ,” Hawke interrupted.

“Can we focus? Just a little? We’re trapped in the Fade, probably with whatever demon Erimond was trying to draw through and everyone back at Adamant thinks we dead.” Lavellan twitched and swung her arms and checked the soles of her feet in anxious motions that Anders knew from experience absolutely did not help. Well, not the feet checking, unless there was a rock in his boot.

Anders laced his fingers behind his head and followed behind Lavellan at a sedate-enough pace that no one asked him any pointed questions about the Fade and Justice. Actually, being in the Fade physically felt a lot more like when he’d been in the Fade during the Blackmarsh incident than when he was Harrowed.

When the ghost of Divine Justinia or whatever the apparition was supposed to be started talking to the Inquisitor, Anders’ thoughts drifted off to Wynne. The commander had said that Wynne was (had been? She was dead now, right?) possessed by a spirit of Faith. Maybe that was why he’d thought it was a good idea to join with Justice. Though, Varric had also mentioned there was a templar involved, so it was probably more complicated than that.

Had Alexius said the spirit possessing Steve had been consumed during the ritual? Anders thought so, but he only really listened when he was talking. He thought he remembered Solas saying something about spirits reforming in the Fade after they were destroyed, too.

“Anders! Pay attention!”

Anders blinked at the shout and realized that Alistair was in front of him, hitting some kind of little demon with his pretentious, Warden-y shield. A long gash down the side of his face was bleeding.

Anders lifted up his hands and channeled healing magic forward. “That would have left a scar. You should really pay more attention. Unless you  _ want _ a horribly disfiguring scar, though how you travelled with the commander and didn’t end up with a host of those is beyond me.”

Alistair paused long enough to dramatically roll his eyes at Anders before going back to the main fray.

Anders drew his staff and threw a fireball at the writhing mass of shades before tossing more healing around. He paused between spells, hands still held up, mid-cast, and wondered if the spirits he called to help with his healing would appear. That’s how it worked, wasn’t it? They came close to where he was and contributed their energy, right?

He continued to ponder this as the group moved on. They were talking about memories or explosions or something, but he was busy trying to remember Wynne’s lessons about the theory behind spirit healing. Maker, he’d been a terrible student.

“You can give yourself as many silly names as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you became an abomination and could still make that same choice.”

Anders crashed into Hawke, who had stopped walking and then looked around at the others who were all now staring at him. “Was it talking about me? I wasn’t listening. It’s a demon. Rule number one: don’t listen to anything it says. Honestly, it’s almost as if some of you aren’t even mages.”

No one laughed. People rarely did. With a put upon sigh, Anders continued following after the group. The little fear shades were coming in greater numbers the further they travelled and Anders had a lingering suspicion that something particularly nasty was waiting for them up ahead. Afterall, that oily Tevinter clearly had some big scary demon lined up for Clarel to summon.

Ugh, Clarel. Orlesian  _ and _ stupid enough to fall for this demon army scheme. Why any of the Ferelden wardens followed along with that idea was beyond him. He certainly hoped Nathaniel hadn’t been sacrificed. He owed the man a swift kick in the pants for suggesting Justice get a living host in the first place. Clearly, it was all his fault.

When the spindly-armed fear demon appeared, Anders focused on Lavellan and the other real people in the Fade with him. No helpful spirits appeared that  _ he _ could see, but healing definitely felt far easier in the Fade. Though maybe that was because they weren’t  _ real _ injuries, just Fade injuries. Anders scratched his head as he considered that over the dissolving form of the fear demon.

And then the Nightmare demon appeared. It certainly was large. Plenty of arms. And some strange collection of holes that looked like a dried blood lotus pod. The Mother had been scarier, if Anders was being honest. Maybe it could add sagging breasts. His thoughts (and running for the rift) were interrupted by Hawke and Alistair fighting over who was going to be left behind. Irritated and really rather ready to be out of the Fade, Anders interrupted them.

“Everyone is suitably impressed with your heroics. How about we all stop posturing and get back to running? Come on, Alistair, I know Surana made you sleep with Morrigan, but it can’t have been so bad you want to die now. And it’s been ten years!” With that parting shot, Anders jumped through the rift, only to trip over Varric and land face-first on the hard, cracked stones of Adamant fortress. He was so thankful, he nearly kissed it.

A few moments later, Hawke jumped out of the rift, landing on his feet a good yard away, as light on his feet as a halla. Alistair tumbled out, sans griffon shield, just before Lavellan sealed the rift. 

Alistair shoved his mangled and bloody (and swordless) sword arm in Anders’ face. “Has he told  _ everyone _ about that?”

“To be fair, he only told Oghren, and  _ Oghren _ told everyone.”

Alistair looked particularly green at that and it had nothing to do with that little adventure in the Fade. “I’m not sure I wasn’t better off staying behind after all.” 

 

\--------------

 

Anders was squished between Dorian and Not Actually Warden Blackwall, whose name Anders didn’t bother  _ trying _ to remember; the man was Orlesian, after all. They were in the middle of a collection of Lavellan’s inner circle, Varric standing unsquished at the front, who were all staring at a door. It was a rather plain door, all told. It was off the somewhat creepy and entirely too devout chantry-themed garden and supposedly opened up to a storage room where Morrigan kept her eluvian.

Anders already knew more than he needed to about Morrigan’s eluvian and, really, there were people in the medtents he could be seeing to, so he had to wonder why he was there. Especially since everyone was silent. Well, mostly. Cassandra and Vivienne were talking about the Chant, which Anders didn’t count.  Anders wasn’t about to waste time standing around in silence when there was work to be done. “You know, the Commander told me there was an eluvian tainted with the Blight. Got some poor Dalish sap.”

“More than one,” Varric said with a grunt. Anders watched as the crossbow shifted on the dwarf’s back. “I know you read Tale of the Champion, Blondie.”

“Oh. Was that the same mirror, then?”

“Same one.”

“Well,” Anders began, gesturing to the door. “This one apparently blew up the Kirkwall chantry.”

Vivienne and Cassandra stopped their conversation to stare incredulously at Anders. He was actually a little proud of that. Varric, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to decide between an angry scowl and a confused stare. “Run that by me again.”

“It’s simple. Morrigan runs off to find the mirror. Goes through the mirror. Commander Surana goes after the mirror to find Morrigan. Goes in and fucks off to do… Whatever in there with her. A templar gets joined and harasses me, I join with Justice… Boom.” He mimed an explosion with his hands, using a bit of magic to add a touch of smoke. For authenticity.

Varric just shook his head. “I thought  _ Steve _ joined with Justice.”

“That’s what you’re questioning?” Blackwall asked, sounding put upon. As if he was one to talk.

“Look, everything he said was crazy. I gotta start somewhere.”

Anders looked and saw everyone looking at him. “I’m feeling really singled out right now.”

Sera blew a raspberry. It did nothing to defuse the situation.


	2. Party Banter

Vivienne: You’d needn’t hide from me, my dear.  
Vivienne: I know you’re not the abomination who blew up the chantry.  
Anders: That’s not why I avoid you.  
Anders: You’re a Circle apologist like Wynne.  
Anders: I got enough of that from her and she was a lot nicer.

Vivienne: Anders, you must see that-  
Anders: Nope. I’m not listening.  
Vivienne: There’s no need to-  
Anders: La la la, I can’t hear you.

Anders: Vivienne-  
Vivienne: Enchanter Vivienne  
Anders: *irritated noise* Enchanter Vivienne, Lavellan found some of your notes-  
Vivienne: And surely you were too polite to look at them.  
Anders: *frustrated growl*

Anders: Vivienne- No, don’t interrupt me - I asked around.  
Anders: Duke Ghislain is ill.  
Vivienne: That is none of your-  
Anders: I am an accomplished Spirit Healer. I would be happy to see if there’s anything I can do.  
Vivienne: The best Spirit Healers-  
Anders: It can’t hurt.  
Vivienne: ...I suppose not.

Anders: I’m sorry I couldn’t cure him.  
Vivienne: You made him comfortable.  
Vivienne: You did more than most.  
Anders: But still not enough.

\---------

Varric: Turned into a red lyrium statue  
Anders: Fed to a cat abomination.  
Varric: What?  
Anders: There was a cat, in the tower, Mr. Wiggums.  
Anders: He got possessed by a rage demon.  
Anders: Killed three templars.  
Varric: I can’t make this shit up.

Varric: Why do you run away from bears?  
Anders: Don’t you know?  
Anders: Running away is my best skill.  
Varric: But bears? You’ve kill Pride demons and worse!  
Anders: You’ve fought Ferelden bears. You should know!

Varric: You have a question, Blondie?  
Anders: Why didn’t you just send Justice back to the Fade?  
Varric: You- Sorry, Steve, said there was no way to separate Justice.  
Anders: Why not use the same ritual the Commander used on Arl Eamon’s boy?  
Varric: What ritual?  
Anders: The more I learn about Steve, the less I like him.

Varric: You never explained; what ritual?  
Anders: Arl Eamon’s son was an abomination.  
Anders: But like Steve, not a snarly, dripping one.  
Varric: Let me guess, the Hero of Ferelden was able to unpossess him.  
Anders: He didn’t even use blood magic.

Varric: So what’s the story with Dalish women?  
Anders: They’re crazy.  
Varric: But you don’t even know Daisy, so where’s this coming from?  
Anders: Ahh, that would be Velanna.   
Anders: Darkspawn framed humans for the murder of her clan.  
Varric: Wait, darkspawn framed humans for murder?  
Anders: You’re never going to get your answers if you keep interrupting with more questions.

Anders: I've always wondered, why is every surface dwarf a merchant or a smith?  
Varric: You already asked me that.  
Anders: Oh, alright.  
Anders: Wait. No I didn’t.

Anders: I’ve been thinking about what Bianca said.  
Varric: Oh yeah?  
Anders: About red lyrium having the taint. There’s some Justice in that.  
Anders: Any templar trying to infiltrate the wardens to get the evil apostates would become corrupted and go mad.  
Anders: Well, faster than normal, at any rate.  
Varric: Assuming the apostate in question doesn’t become an abomination and kill them first.  
Anders: Assuming.

**Author's Note:**

> REMINDER: Chapter 2 is 100% party banter, no additional story.


End file.
